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A great tourist had once said Berlin was the essence of the Weimar Republic and vice versa. To Robert Oaks, being driven through the city streets he couldn’t help but feel that its populace carried the air of the defeated, the city itself broken, upon the declaration that the republic would be brought to an end. The blast of air battering his face on the cold day meant he couldn’t help but be alert to the situation as he was raced to his destination

The events of the last few weeks had been a fever dream to Robert. He had been confined in the American embassy with little more than the noises from outside the sealed premises off of the Tiergarten to indicate what was going on in the wider city. The condensation of the mid-Autumn climate that clung on to the windows of the embassy added a literal blur to the events, and whenever a radio call would come from Washington he couldn’t help but wonder whether this would be the time he would have to tell the person on the other end that they probably knew more than he did about the situation, or that they’d be better asking one of the marines who paced the outside perimeter with gritted teeth, waiting for a gang of blackshirt thugs to appear.

This was all about to change however.

When Von Schleicher’s new regime approached the embassy it hadn’t been in a black shirt but via a diplomatically worded letter from a Reichswehr courier. The letter apologised for the disruption caused by ‘the attempted Bolshevik coup’ but requested an audience with the ambassador at the nearest opportunity. Ambassador Sackett had urged Robert to go in his place. On the basis of the current crisis the presence of the actual ambassador might cause confusion he had argued. Robert suspected the man’s short tenure in the role was the real reason, Sackett had only been appointed to the position a few months previously whilst Robert had been serving in Berlin for over six years. The way in which the Weimar Republic had stumbled from one crisis to another had made this time seem like an eternity for Robert but at the very least it had skilled him in how to catch the Germans off-guard. With this in mind, Robert designed to travel to the Reichstag immediately.

The courier who had waited patiently for a written reply was sullen whilst being obliged to offer Robert his place in the sidecar of the motorcycle he had arrived in. The driver of the motorcycle had barely acknowledged Robert beyond looking somewhat perplexed before speeding him away to the Reichstag in lieu of his colleague. Robert couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the man left behind, in Berlin’s current state he wouldn’t have wanted to walk the streets alone either.

Robert was carried through a natural golden hall of falling leaves, the Tiergarten remained obstinate in its autumnal beauty. Before he could take solace in some things never changing he noticed those quietly trying to cut down the trees for fuel. Some appeared to drift in and out of a small Blackshirt rally, far less conspicuous than some of those he had seen prior to the coup; it was only when he was being driven directly by that he noticed it was actually a large soup kitchen. A large banner in the blocky Roman letters of the Volkisch Bund hung over the steaming vats,









The lettering on the banner was distorted by the evaporation below it, making the message seem even more sinister. There were those in the embassy who had feared that all of the progress Germany had made over the last decade was being undone byt the events of the last few weeks, however in the form of the Volkisch Bund Robert saw a movement that didn’t want to stop the regression at 1914 but further, doing away with Kant, perhaps even with Fichte, until they had reverted to an imagined past.

Robert had no doubt that Von Schleicher would be trying to keep a lid on these fanatics; from what he knew of the Chancellor the man believed in nothing but himself and perhaps Germany if it could be considered an abstract extension of himself. These thugs were almost certainly regarded as mere muscle to him, their leader the Crown Prince perhaps a certain legitimacy to his regime in certain circles, but beyond pragmatism he was confident Von Schleicher had no intention of indulging their fantasies.

The question was, who was really manipulating who?

The number of Reichswehr soldiers assembled around the government quarter leading up to the Reichstag didn’t exactly allow the new regime to exude confidence and Robert couldn’t help wondering whether the jittery expressions of many of those soldiers were caused by fear of Communist insurgents or the Blackshirts who were also milling around like a bad smell, trying to inspire the soldiers with speeches that were distorted by the growl of the motorcycle.

The imposing exterior of the Reichstag did inspire a strength all of its own but those who had dwelled in its chambers had often suffered from having no real control of the situation unfolding around them. Robert, being helped out of the sidecar, was regarded with confusion as the driver led him up the steps and explained the situation to those guarding the grand entrance. Despite having not been the American ambassador he was led up the stairs of the inner hall with great enthusiasm, it appeared they wanted him to be here even if he hadn’t been expected. His driver had left him the hands of a grinning female aide who made him feel unnerved, this was meant to be an unhappy surprise for the Chancellor and now he was being escorted to his office through a building smelling of peroxide and bleach.

Upon nearing the Chancellor’s office Robert had expected to be asked to wait, part of him wanted to do so to collect himself, and perhaps see what sort of coffee the Reichstag had to offer. Instead he was left to perch as his blonde haired guide knocked on the Chancellor’s door and announced him. An elderly man in an unfamiliar uniform excused himself, placing on his head something that looked like a stetson whose cowboy owner had accidentally sat on. The strange soldier winked at Robert before descending the stairs with a vigour alien to his years. His mind joined the dots, realising he had just seen Paul von Lettow-Vorbeck. The so-called “Lion of Africa” whose guerilla activities in Tanzania had caused the Entente so many problems in the Great War in a meeting with the Chancellor? A meeting that had been abruptly ended because of him? These were surreal times.

Von Schleicher appeared much cheerier than Robert had imagined him although he was aware of the man’s reputation for deception he appeared more tired than cunning. Like an ageing dog running out of tricks to pull.

“It is a pleasure to meet such an esteemed American diplomat Mr Oaks, I had been hoping to meet with your Ambassador Sackett but this way I am at least able to avoid having to try my awful grasp of English.” Robert smiled, these last years had made him more fluent in German than the French his grandmother had taught him at a young age.

“I can certainly be of assistance to you in that matter, Chancellor.”

“Well that is a relief, I carry many burdens these days so I try to avoid them whenever I can,”

Von Schleicher motioned Robert to sit with him at his desk, an imposing portrait of Otto Von Bismarck glowered over them.

“In the past the United States has been a great friend of Germany, the best friend it has had in recent years. When the British and French were keen to destroy Germany as a nation you saved us with the Fourteen Points, when the French and Belgians occupied the Ruhr you freed our people with the Dawes plan, and only last year your Young Plan righted many of the wrongs of Versailles. Would I not be correct in saying that the United States is our closest ally?”

“I have striven towards that goal ever since my small involvement with the Dawes Plan,” there was a twinkle in Von Schleicher’s eye, “but there is also this issue of the Third Reich which, if you will forgive me, is no small matter in terms of our future relations.”

Von Schleicher expressed dismay but it seemed feigned.

“You have been here long enough surely to realise how broken the previous system was and what it was doing to our country? I must admit I had a small role in the Dawes Plan myself and I followed Stresemann throughout it. There was a man of action and I feel that if he were still with us he would agree with the course we set out. The man was a monarchist after all, and like me he had to push through an enabling act to maintain order when the revolutionaries were at the doorstep.”

“Chancellor, if you’ll allow me to be blunt, you’re not Gustav Stresemann.”

Robert winced at his own words even as he said them, all diplomatic etiquette had just been thrown out of the window but Von Schleicher’s scowl made him hope it had the desired effect of dragging the General out of his dream world. The man had delivered Berlin to the Blackshirts and he would be made to reckon with it.

“I am well aware of it,” Von Schleicher muttered tiredly, “but I share the great man’s goal in bringing our two nations ever closer and to our mutual benefit. This global economic chaos is bringing suffering to both our peoples and I have taken the necessary constitutional steps in Germany to not only maintain order but also to create a solid basis going forward from that, but that will only come with international help. American help to be precise. I would like to propose a new conference, the agenda of which I would like to discuss with your ambassador and hopefully, soon, with your President.”

“Chancellor, Stresemann used international conferences to bring Germany back into the world and I must say my Government is concerned you are doing the opposite in your methods of ‘restoring order’. Imprisoning political opponents and gunning down civilians goes beyond an enabling act.”

“The scale of the crisis is unprecedented and requires unprecedented measures.” Von Schleicher barked. Robert couldn’t contain himself.

“And why, then, would we ever have a conference with a failed state that cannot even control its own territory without resorting to such measures?” He expected Von Schleicher to have him thrown out, or perhaps even shot. Certainly the state department would call for the latter if they were ever to become aware of how he was conducting himself, Robert mused.

Von Schleicher pressed his hands to his temple briefly before they sprang out in a strange begging posture.

“But that’s precisely why-no, actually, your conduct makes it impossible for you to see reason. You have the message I wanted you to relay, please now go and do so.”

“I will do as you ask Chancellor but I’m afraid it’s unlikely you’ll find a more sympathetic ear than mine. America isn’t Italy.” Robert rose without dwelling on the disaster the encounter had been, placated that in any case Von Schleicher’s career had much more riding on this than he did.

Leaving the Reichstag he recalled he had meant to ask if his friend Ernst was still alive, the SPD had been just as mercilessly crushed in Berlin as the KPD after all. That was the reality of Berlin now, cabarets banned for decadence, alms withheld if proper loyalty was not adhered to by the starving, questioning whether one’s friends were alive or dead.



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The upstart American had left the room allowing Kurt Von Schleicher to no longer conceal his rage. Alone however it merely burned out internally.

It seemed the Reichswehr would have to save Germany by itself. This had been the case in 1919 and 1920. It had been under the guidance of General Von Seeckt back then, a far better idol for himself than Gustav Stresemann, the man who had mentored him in war and politics, And what would the old man say now, having long been left by the wayside by Von Schleicher as he cultivated his rise to political power? Von Seeckt would have relied on his own student to lead the Reichswehr to victory once again, Von Schleicher was sure of it.

The Lion of Africa’s plan was unorthodox, that was obvious, but the final preparations were already underway. Von Lettow-Vorbeck had once been a proud marine in the Imperial Navy before his exploits on land. The importance of his success would be even more important now that the American had as good as told his regime to go to hell but they would be forced to acknowledge who was truly in control of Germany when a Reichsmarine flotilla descended upon the traitors in Hamburg.

The fleet would leave Stettin for the Elbe in short order, coalescing with the main assault on the railheads and the Ruhr. The main Communist nest would be uprooted and the Reichswehr would regain control of the country’s railways in one fell swoop.

And then, finally, he would be able to deal with the Blackshirts outside.


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The painting is Bridge at the Tiergarten by Martin Bloch